That little steel drum banging
about and giving all the notes in
this land stuffed full of monster
and rival,
though they be but a
fungus and a turtoise,
though our
overalls do be coloured in the
style of Christmas,
though the object
of our attention is a propagation
of a monarchy,
though our reward
be an arduous journey to worlds
of similar natures,
though our help
be the very starlight from
above our souls,
though our attempts
can be increased and decreased
in the face of opposition,
though our credentials
are never tested,
though we sail
through overlarge version of
our prime working playground,
though we run
swiftly grabbing currency
to fill our pockets but are
never weighed down from flight,
though this battle
through cosmos and worlds
alike feels never-ending,
man, those notes sure are
a bona fide bop!